


Tainted

by kathkin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-22
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>By all reports, they’d simply appeared overnight.</em> (Discontinued.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is now long abandoned!
> 
> I wrote it in late 2008/early 2009, posted it as a WIP without properly editing it, and got tired of it before I finished it. Given how much my writing style has changed since then I'm not really in a place to finish it any more - if I ever come back to this it'll be to give it a total re-write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now abandoned.

One of Arthur’s knights saw them first, and the next day he’d ridden out himself and seen them from the top of a nearby hill. They had set up camp on the edge of the kingdom. By all reports, they’d simply appeared overnight.

Arthur didn’t recognise them. Nor did any of his knights. But his descriptions of what he’d seen made Uther freeze, speechless, and Gaius turn white.

“Tarddyn,” said Gaius. The name was vaguely familiar, though Arthur wasn’t sure why.

“They couldn’t have come back,” said Uther. “Not so soon.”

Arthur was about to ask when he remembered where he’d heard the name; about six months before, when there’d been attacks on some villages just outside the borders. The neighbouring king had done nothing to prevent it, and neither had they, despite many thinking they should.

“They were within the borders?” said Uther. Arthur nodded. His father stood up. “You must go and meet with their chieftain. See if they can be persuaded to leave without a fight.”

He began to walk away then. Arthur stared after him, confused. “But- they’re a fighting force,” he said. “They’ve started a war with us just by being here. Shouldn’t we fight them?”

“Not unless we have to,” said Uther, stopping and turning to face his son. “The Tarddyn are brutal fighters. Even if we defeated them, our losses would be- it’s not worth it.”

“But-”

“It’s not worth it!” Uther was nearly shouting. He turned again and swept out of the hall, leaving Arthur even more confused.

“He’s right, sire,” said Gaius.

“Who are they?” said Arthur.

“The Tarddyn,” said Gaius. “Their rulers were banished from their own kingdoms. They live as nomads now.”

“Why were they banished?” said Arthur. “What did they do?”

Gaius sighed. “Your highness,” he said. “If you can name it, they did it. And some things you can’t name, besides. But their leader might speak with you. Provided you identify yourself adequately.”

“What do you mean?” said Arthur.

“Well, they won’t speak to a prince. Only a king. And even then only if they deem your kingdom worthy.”

“And what do they think of Camelot?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Gaius.

Arthur sighed, and took his head in his hands. “Is there anything else I should know?” he said, his voice muffled.

-

The Tarddyn in question were ruled by one of the two oldest leaders, Arthur learned from a herald when he arrived near their camp. His name was Druthelm; he’d seen men on horseback watching his camp, and he was willing to speak to the king.

“I’ll speak with him,” he said.

“He thanks you,” said the herald. “And asks that you come alone.”

He didn’t wait for another response; he just wandered away in a decidedly informal manner.

“That sounds… ominous,” said one of his knights. “Are you sure this is a good idea, sire?”

“I’m following my father’s orders,” said Arthur. “If  I’m not back in two hours, you’re to come and make sure I’m not dead.” He gave the matter a little more thought. “Make that three hours. I don’t want you interrupting.”

Everything Gaius had told him had made him dislike these people. They kept slaves, he’d learned, and he was to do his best to ignore this; he wasn’t to speak to any slaves, or show any pity for them. He was, predictably enough, to avoid showing any weakness at all.

Druthelm’s tent was in the centre of the camp. Inside it reeked of smoke, and sweat, and something which was probably last night’s dinner. The chieftain himself was seated, large, battle-scarred, and mostly obscured by darkness and the smoke from the fire. There were two guards, and three slaves, one attached to one of the supporting poles near what looked like an entrance to an adjoining tent by a long chain. Much of it was coiled up on the floor beside him. The other two were tethered to the arms Druthelm’s seat (throne?). One was a blonde, buxom girl. He had one hand threaded through her chain, and she was draped across his leg, with one hand resting on his bare foot. She was gazing up at him with what seemed to be adoration. The other was sitting slightly further back, even more obscured than their master. As best as Arthur could tell, it was a skinny boy with dark hair, whose eyes were downcast.

“Druthelm?” he said, trying (and failing) to sound more certain than he was.

“You’ll address me as ‘my lord’,” said the chieftain.

“My Lord,” said Arthur, wincing slightly. It felt strange, calling someone that. He took a deep breath, and collected himself. “I’m King Arthur Pendragon. From Camelot.”

“I know where you’re from,” said Druthelm. “I trust your father has died, then? Uther?”

“Yes,” said Arthur simply. He hoped he wouldn’t have to elaborate. Coming up with convincing lies wasn’t his strong point.

“Good,” said the chieftain. “Old fool.”  With that, he unwrapped his hand from the chain, and flung it down. The girl withdrew instantly, her eyes falling to the floor.

Druthelm stood up - his chair creaked rather alarmingly - and gestured sharply with one hand. The second slave, the boy, leapt forward, took hold off his master’s hand, and kissed it, then ran his tongue down it, as if his life depended on it (which it probably did, Arthur realised). As he did so, he turned and looked at Arthur, which rendered him temporarily speechless.

The other slaves he’d seen had all had eyes filled with devotion, like the blond girl, or glazed with depression, like the third slave, the one chained just to his right. This one looked at the prince with startling clarity, as if he could see right into him.  
After a moment, Druthelm pulled his hand away, and the boy wrapped himself around his leg, as the girl had earlier.

“You’ve come to ask me to leave,” said Druthelm.

Arthur swallowed. “Yes,” he managed. “We’d prefer not to fight you, if we don’t have to.”

“But you will,” said the chieftain. “If I don’t do as you ask?”

Arthur nodded. Druthelm was silent for a while.

“You’re young,” he said eventually. “Your father can’t have died that long ago. He was still alive when I was last here. You’ve not been king long enough to lead your men to war.”

“I’ve been a leader of men for a long time,” said Arthur. “Before my father died, I lead the knights of Camelot. Don’t underestimate me.”

Druthelm laughed. “Oh,” he said. “I don’t.”

Arthur risked another glance at the slave. The young man was still staring at him in that unsettling way; he had very deep blue eyes, Arthur noticed.

“How many do you number?” said Druthelm, and by the time Arthur’d registered that he was being spoken to, the chieftain’s gaze had flicked from Arthur to the slave, and realised what was distracting him. He tugged savagely at the chain, and the boy’s eyes filled with pain, before his master tugged away, and threw him back to where he’d been before.

Arthur noticed for the first time, then, that both slaves were naked, and saw something dark red staining the boy’s inner thigh; it was dried blood, he realised. He suddenly felt slightly sick.

“Do you number more than me?” said Druthelm.

Arthur wasn’t completely sure, not without giving the matter some thought. He decided to chance it. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we do.”

“My brother has almost as many men as I,” said the chieftain. “I could summon him here. Would you outnumber us then?” Arthur didn’t answer. Druthelm smiled. “You’re young,” he said. “You will fall easily. And I shall take Camelot for myself. It’s a long time since my people have had a place to call their home.”

He sat down again, and beckoned the girl back to his side. Arthur waited a moment, then backed out of the tent. He felt he’d messed thing up, rather. His father would be furious.

-

There was a general consensus, among the knights, that what had happened hadn’t been Arthur’s fault. At all. All he’d told them was that they’d have to fight after all. They’d asked no questions, but he thought they were slightly suspicious.

“Well?” said Uther, when he arrived back.

“We fight,” said Arthur simply. He waited for his knights to depart before he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Uther coldly. “We may be able to fight them off, though.”

“He said he had a brother he could call on,” said Arthur.

“Did he say where he was?”

Arthur shook his head. “No.”

“Then we’ll assume he’s far enough away not to be a problem for a few days, at least.”

Uther swept out of the hall in the way that only he could, and which never failed to leave Arthur feeling slightly ashamed at the best of times.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That night, Arthur developed a theory about the Tarddyn._

That night, Arthur developed a theory about the Tarddyn.

It occurred to him that the people he’d seen in their camp hadn’t been exactly what he’d expected. They hadn’t quite seemed like fearsome warriors, exactly, they’d all been quite old, and few had seemed properly alert, not even those who were meant to be on guard. He couldn’t quite imagine them fighting the way he’d been told they would.

Then it hit him; did they really have to? If every king reacted to their presence the way Uther had, would they ever have to fight at all? What if, rather than raiding, they just camped on someone’s land and wouldn’t leave without being paid, say?

He put his theory to his father the next morning. It did not go down well. Arthur suspected Uther just didn’t like being told he might be wrong.

“Father, when did you last hear of them actually fighting anyone?” he said. “Other than just attacking outlying villages?” There was no response. “Well, then-”

“What exactly is your point?” snapped Uther.

“Well,” said Arthur. “I’m... not exactly sure about that. But it’s a good theory, isn’t it?”

The discussion trailed off rather, there, and didn’t start up again until later (when it went rather better, because Arthur had given the issue more thought, and come up with more of a plan).

-

Arthur turned out to be more or less right. Once attacked, the Tarddyn were quite underwhelming. Brutal, but unskilled. Nowhere near as well-trained as the soldiers they fought against. It wasn’t long before they were trying to leave the kingdom, which was exactly what Arthur had hoped they’d do.

However, neither of them got what they’d hoped for. Because when the Tarddyn reached the border, they were met by more soldiers. They came from the neighbouring kingdom, the one which had been attacked just a few months earlier, and they’d noticed that the Tarddyn were losing.

It wasn’t long before they all vanished back into their camp. And it wasn’t long after that before one arrived to speak with Arthur.

“Our Lord wants to speak with you again,” he said simply. But this time he waited to escort Arthur, all the way to Druthelm’s tent.

And inside was that slave again, kneeling by his master, with one arm draped across his lap. Druthelm was holding the chain in one hand, and had the other wrapped around the boy’s wrist. He stayed like that, silent, until Arthur spoke.

“You do realise,” he said. “That you’re surrounded.”

Druthelm flung the boy’s arm away, then stood up so suddenly that the slave, pulled up sharply by his chain, cried out softly.

“There’s no need,” he said. “We will leave.” He let the chain fall back to the arm of his chair.

“You should have left when I first spoke with you,” said Arthur.

“I underestimated you,” said Druthelm. “I realise that. And now I’ll leave, if you’ll let me.” Arthur’s gaze flicked back to the slave, and lingered there for longer than he intended, long enough for the chieftain to notice. He snatched up the chain again, and threw the boy forward. “Do you like him?” he said. “You can have him if you want him. Take him, and let us go.”

Now that he’s in the light, Arthur could see that there was a bruise on the boy’s face, standing out against his pale skin, and others on his hips, which looked suspiciously like marks left by fingers.

And for a moment he was actually tempted to agree. Because after all, wasn’t this what his father had wanted? The Tarddyn to leave without a fight? And the boy wouldn’t have to be a slave in Camelot. He looked from the slave to Druthelm, then back to the slave, who’d fixed Arthur with a desperate gaze. After a moment, he shook his head, as best as he could manage with the collar and chain tight around his neck.

Arthur swallowed before he spoke again. “No,” he said.

“Are you sure?” said Druthelm. Arthur nodded, then winced as the boy was flung back towards the chair.

“You know,” said Arthur. “I haven’t seen you fight yourself, yet. Are you afraid of me?”

He left the tent without giving the chieftain a chance to answer, but he heard a frustrated shout behind him, once he was outside.

-

Less than an hour later, he met Druthelm on top of a hill (the same hill from which he’d first looked down on the Tarddyn camp). He arrived to find the chieftain standing at it’s summit and shouting, with two of his soldiers – they might have been the guards from his tent – standing alongside him.

“Pendragon!” Druthelm was shouting. “Come here, Pendragon! I’ll make you wish you’d never called me a coward!”

“You called him a coward?” said the knight beside Arthur softly, which a hint of panic in his voice. Druthelm really was massive, but, if anything, less impressive, now he was outside of his tent.

“Well, I didn’t use those exact words,” said Arthur.

“He’s going to kill you,” said the knight.

“Could you please try to be a little less encouraging?” said Arthur. “I’m going to get so sure of myself that I end up underestimating him.” He drew his sword, and twirled it around, looking rather calmer than he felt.

“You should just tell him he can go,” said the knight. “We won’t think any less of you. We won’t even tell your father.”

“Do you think I can’t take him?” said Arthur. “I can take him. I’ve beaten men his size before.”

That had been different, though, he thought as the knight nodded, and did his best to smile. Because they hadn’t actually been trying to kill him.

But oh, well. If the worst happened, his father was still young enough to make another heir.

By the time he reached him, Druthelm had broken off shouting. He didn’t wait for Arthur to speak before he charged (and later on, the knight behind him swore the earth shook as he did so).

Arthur parried his first few blows, then dodged around him, but the chieftain was quicker than he expected. He spun around, and caught Arthur’s shoulder with his sword, with enough force to knock him to one side. The grass was wet, and he slipped backwards.

Unfortunately, the slope behind him was very steep, and hard to climb down safely even when dry. It was wet, and muddy, and Arthur went down it backwards. He reached the bottom lying on his stomach, and feeling utterly humiliated.

Druthelm was staring down at him from the top of the hill, and laughing. “What a king you are!” he shouted. “Lying on your belly in the mud.”

Arthur glared at him, then pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and reached for his sword. When he next looked to the top of the hill, Druthelm had begun to make his way down, with rather more care than Arthur had. He climbed to his feet, wiped the worst of the mud off his chain mail, then realised that, by doing so, he’d transferred most of it to his gloves. He stripped them off and let them fall to the ground.

The next thing he knew, Druthelm was right in front of him. He didn’t have time to think, but thankfully, in such situations, he tended to act without doing so.

Like the rest of the Tarddyn, Druthelm was rather out of practice, but, also like the others, he made for it through being vicious. Unlike most of his men, he also made up for it through sheer bulk. He forced Arthur back across the grass and right into his camp, until they were fighting just outside Druthelm’s own tent.

And then Arthur was on his knees, and his sword was lying on the ground just out of reach, and Druthelm’s was at his throat.  
“I almost wish Uther was still alive,” said Druthelm. “He deserves to hear of this.”

He pulled his arm back, and hesitated for a moment. Then he yelped, in a thoroughly undignified manner, and dropped his sword, staring at his hand in shock. There was a burn straight across his palm. The grass beneath the hilt of his sword was smoldering slightly.

Arthur was as bewildered as Druthelm, and very much surprised to find himself still alive, but he managed to collect himself sooner. He threw himself forward, and tackled the larger man to the ground. Druthelm cried out, and reached for his sword, but yelped again when he touched the hilt. It was still hot, Arthur realised as he lifted his own sword.

Druthelm struggled to his feet just as Arthur turned to face him. He lashed out before the prince could raise his sword, striking him across the face, but he had to step closed to do so, leaving him well within reach. Arthur lunged forward.

His sword seemed slide into Druthelm with almost no resistance, but then it was almost stopped by his ribcage. He heard the older man cry out, then saw him go limp. He stepped back, pulling his sword out of the body, and the ground didn’t shake when it fell.  
Druthelm didn’t seem impressive at all now. And now Arthur could see straight into his tent. He glimpsed something moving in the darkness, and stepped around the body, wanting to go inside.

“Your highness!” someone called. “Your highness!” he turned. It was the knight from before, slipping down the hill towards him.  
He started to say something about how Arthur should really come, now, because they were about to be attacked by a group of Tarddyn… or something. He was only half-listening. He was very tempted to go into the tent anyway, but he made himself follow the knight.

He was rather puzzled when he noticed that not all the Tarddyn were in the group that had attacked. But he found out why another hour or so later, when he went back over the hill, and into the camp.

The slaves were all dead. He’d seen a few around, before, sitting just outside tents, though most had hidden themselves away when they saw him fighting Druthelm. But now they were all outside, scattered around him on the grass.

He glanced around.

“What happened?” said one of his knights.

“The other Tarddyn must have done it,” said another.

“But… why?”

 _So we can’t celebrate_ , thought Arthur. Then he thought of the skinny dark-haired boy hiding in the shadows in that tent. It occurred to him that they should try and track down the rest of the Tarddyn men, and that he should say that, but it was a long time before he could get the words out.

“They’ll probably be stopped at the border,” someone said.

“Well,” said Arthur. “We can stop them before that.”

He had to step over three bodies on the way out of the camp.


	3. Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By the time Arthur came back, it was dark._

By the time Arthur came back, it was dark, dark enough that he could only see the camp fire, with a few shadowy figures around it.

They’d taken a few Tarddyn prisoners. But between his soldiers and those who’d been patrolling the border, most had been finished off. Arthur knew he really shouldn’t have let that happen, but he couldn’t quite make himself care. It wasn’t that he was glad. He just found it hard to bothered, and this feeling increased when they rode past the heaped-up bodies of the slaves.

As he climbed down from his horse, several of the figures around the fire leapt to their feet and came towards him. Two of them were headed for the horse, but the third threw themselves at him with a scream.

It was the blonde slave-girl, from Druthelm’s tent, clad in someone’s oversized tunic, and she threw herself at his chest.

“You killed him!” she shrieked. He pushed her away from him, but he didn’t want to use too much force. She threw herself at him again and battered her fists against his chain mail. “You bastard, you bastard, you killed him!”

He pushed her away again, but she lunged forward, and, apparently having decided that she wasn’t going to do much damage to his armour, tried to claw at his face. Her shouts had devolved into wordless screams.

He pushed her away yet again, and this time, before she could come back, someone grabbed her from behind.

“Let me go!” she said. “He killed him, he killed him, you saw, you saw…”

Arthur was about to speak - about to say… something… to her - when he noticed that the man behind her was the dark-haired slave.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. The blonde girl in his arms fell silent, and her struggles became rather more halfhearted. “I’m sorry.” He led her away, and let go of her, slightly cautiously. She fell to the ground and sat there, sobbing.

Arthur was about to ask what he was sorry for when one of the knights spoke. “We found them hiding in one of the tents,” he said.

“Oh,” said Arthur. He thought he really should feel happier about this than he was. But he still just felt oddly numb.

The slave-boy wasn’t really a boy, now he looked at him. Or not quite. He could only have been a couple of years younger than Arthur, and he was taller than he’d seemed when he was crouched naked in the shadows. But he was quite painfully thin. If anything, that was more evident now he was dressed in clothes that must have come from one of the soldiers. They were hanging off him.

The boy - the man - the ex-slave - had obviously noticed him staring. He stared back. “Your face is bleeding,” he said simply, calmly, and sat down by the fire. Arthur touched his cheek. It stung. The blonde girl had managed to draw blood with her scratching. He frowned at the blood on his fingers, then looked back at the slave… ex-slave.

He still had a short length of chain attached to a collar around his neck, Arthur noticed. They both did - no, all three of them. There was a third one, sitting nearby with a blanket draped around his shoulders. He was staring into space, looking rather lost. Arthur stepped towards him.

“Are you alright?” he said. The slave just turned and looked up at him blankly.

“He won’t answer you,” said the dark-haired… ex-slave from behind him. “He can’t.”

“Why not?” said Arthur.

“They cut out his tongue.”

There was silence for a moment. The fire crackled. One of the knights who’d just arrived with Arthur shuddered.

“Oh,” said Arthur eventually.

-

He didn’t sleep at all well that night. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the tongue-less man staring at the fire, or Druthelm standing over him, or the heap of bodies outside their camp, or the blonde girl screaming at him… the list went on. It seemed to grow longer every few minutes. Something else would spring to mind, just as he felt he might be able to sleep, and he’d shudder, and find himself fully awake.

So he got up very early, just as the sun was rising, and slipped out of his tent. Other than a few people on watch, in the distance, there didn’t seem to be anyone else up at all.

But then, as he started to walk towards the remains of last night’s fire, he saw someone sitting alongside it. When he got a little closer, he saw that it was the dark-haired ex-slave. He realised that he should ask his name (because that was an absurd way to keep thinking of someone), but, when he got there, that seemed like an absurdly ordinary way to start a conversation, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say at all.

The young man peered up at him. “Couldn’t sleep?” he said.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair (which felt very tangled, and was probably a very un-princely mess). “Not really,” he said, and threw himself down by what was left of the fire. “What about you? The same?” The only response he got was a shrug. The ex-slave turn back to stare at the glowing remnant of the fire, and neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur eventually. “But what’s your name?”

The young man turned to look at him, wide-eyed with surprise. It was a moment or two before he answered, and Arthur realised it might well have been a long time since anyone had asked.

“Merlin,” he said eventually. “Merlin, I’m Merlin.” Then he smiled, with surprising sincerity. He seemed genuinely happy. Arthur smiled too, then had a sudden urge to laugh, which he tried to suppress. It seemed like completely the wrong thing to do.

But then the boy - Merlin - let out a nervous laugh, and Arthur joined it. They sat and laughed as quietly as they could for a few minutes, until Merlin covered his face with his hands, and Arthur turned to look at his feet.

“Thank you,” said Merlin. “Just - for everything.”

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur.

“For what?” said Merlin. Arthur didn’t answer, but he couldn’t help glancing behind him, towards the heaped-up bodies, and Merlin followed his gaze.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he said. “He’d already ordered them to do that, you know. If you killed him.”

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d have planned for that,” said Arthur. “He seemed -” he broke off.

“He always acted more confident than he was,” said Merlin. “Always.”

They were silent for another few minutes.

“That girl,” said Arthur. “The blonde girl - what’s her name?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Merlin.

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Well - anyway - why was she - I mean, why did she -”

“I’ve no idea,” Merlin said again. He sighed, and covered his face with his hands again. “She’d not been with him that much longer than I had. I think I might have been like that soon.” He dragged his hands up through his hair, then turned to face Arthur. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I almost got you killed.” He thought of Merlin shaking his head, silently persuading him not to let the Tarddyn go, and something occurred to him. “Did you know he was planning that,” he said. “When I spoke with him the second time? When you -”

“No,” said Merlin. “But I still wouldn’t have wanted you to let them go. I’m glad you killed him.”

“I’m not,” said Arthur. “I just - I don’t - I just feel numb.” That wasn’t quite true, any more. He was starting to feel something, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Merlin nodded, slowly, and took a deep breath. “So do I,” he said. Then neither of them spoke for a while.

Then; “What’s Camelot like?” said Merlin.

Arthur shrugged. “It’s… well... it’s a wonderful city,” he settled for.

“And you’re king?” said Merlin.

“No, actually,” said Arthur. “I lied. My father’s still alive. Someone told me I shouldn’t tell Druthelm -” Merlin stiffened at that name. “That I was a prince. My father doesn’t know. Don’t tell him.”

“He wouldn’t have spoken to a prince,” said Merlin. He tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed tunic, and turned to Arthur as if he was about to say something else, but then a few soldiers came out of a nearby tent, then some of his knights from another. Arthur stood up.

“Are we going back to Camelot, sire?” said one.

“Pack up the tents,” said Arthur, walking past them and away.


	4. Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The reaction from most people at court was... triumphant._

The reaction from most people at court was... triumphant. Jubilant, almost. Arthur told his father about the slaughtered slaves, but he didn’t seem that bothered.

“They were only slaves, Arthur,” he said. “It would have been worse if it had been your soldiers, wouldn’t it?”

 _The soldiers could have fought back._ “What about his brother?” he said.

“Tyshelm,” said Gaius.

“He might already be on his way here,” said Arthur.

“Perhaps we should question the prisoners?” said Uther.

“They won’t tell us anything, sire,” said Gaius. “The Tarddyn are fiercely loyal to their chieftains.”

“I see,” said Uther.

“There’s always the three slaves,” said Arthur. He thought of Merlin. He wasn’t sure how much he’d know, but it was worth asking.

“See if they know anything,” said Uther, before he left.

-

Arthur met with one of his knights and a servant just outside the hall.

“Sire, what’s to be done with those three slaves?” said the knight.

“Look after them,” said Arthur. “Send them to Gaius. Have him check they’re alright. Then find them somewhere to live in the palace.”

The knight raised his eyebrows at that. “What about the girl?” he said. “She attacked you before, and she keeps -”

“Lock her in a room if you have to,” said Arthur. “Just don’t put her in the cells, alright? And tell Gaius that he’s to send the dark-haired boy to me tonight. I need to talk to him.”

-

Of the three slaves, Gaius quickly realised, one was more or less unharmed, and seemed better-fed than he’d expected (she was blond, and could almost be called chubby). The other two were both much too thin. One was missing his tongue, and the other, when he slipped his shirt over his head, was covered in bruises.

“Did Druthelm do this to you?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the young man.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said. “Can I put my shirt back on now?” Gaius nodded, and watched as he pulled it back over his head.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Merlin,” said the boy.

“Merlin,” Gaius repeated. “That sounds familiar. Where are you from?”

“Ealdor,” said Merlin. He took a deep breath. “Can I go now?”

“I’m not sure why you’re so keen to leave,” said Gaius. “Where are you planning to go?” Merlin shrugged. “Well, Arthur wants to see you this evening.”

Merlin’s face lit up, but only for a moment.“Alright,” he said. He stood up. “Can I please go now?” he said. Gaius looked at him quizzically. “Look, I just want to be alone.”

“Alright,” said Gaius.

It wasn’t until a few minutes after Merlin had left that he remembered who he knew who had lived in Ealdor.

-

Merlin’s arrival outside his room that evening. Arthur called to him to come in, and he slipped through the door looking strangely sheepish, as if he were doing something he shouldn’t be.

“Come in,” he said. “Sit down.” Merlin did so in silence. “Have you eaten?” said Arthur.

“Oh. No,” said Merlin. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well,” said Arthur, standing up. “I’ll have someone bring something up. You need to eat. You’re much too thin.” He walked around Merlin towards the door, and the other man turned to watch him.

“Did you call me up here just to fatten me up?” he said with a smile.

Arthur laughed. “Unfortunately not,” he said, as he left the room.

When he came back, Merlin had moved around the table, from the end to the side, and for some reason seemed rather happier sitting there.

“So why am I here, then?” he said as Arthur sat down. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Did you see Gaius?” said Arthur.

“Yes,” said Merlin.

“And the others? Them too?” Merlin nodded. “Good.” He sat back and sighed. “There’s some things I need to know. About -”

“Him?” Merlin interrupted him. Arthur wondered if he was stopping him from saying the name.

“Yes. Well, his brother, actually.”

“Tyshelm,” said Merlin.

“Yes,” said Arthur. “I thought maybe you might know something.” Merlin frowned, but didn’t say anything. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Can you tell me anything?”

“What exactly do you want to know?” said Merlin.

“Whatever you know,” said Arthur. Merlin frowned again. He was silent for a while before he spoke again.

“Well,” he said. “I don’t know exactly where he is -” Arthur sighed. “But I vaguely, and I know how long it should take him to get here. And how many men he’ll have with him.”

Arthur frowned at that. “Right,” he said. “And… how do you know all that?”

“I was there while he dictated all his messages,” said Merlin. “And through all his negotiations. For the last few months, anyway. I thought you must have known that.”

“Why would I know that?” said Arthur.

“Well, you saw where I was,” said Merlin.

Arthur thought back to his encounters with Druthelm and Merlin in the tent, and shuddered. Then he felt like kicking himself. Of course Merlin had always been there. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Merlin ignored him. “If you want to know that, I’ll tell you,” he said. “If you promise to do something for me.”

“What would that something be?” said Arthur.

“If you go to fight Tyshelm,” said Merlin. “You take me with you. Please.”

“What?” said Arthur, taken aback. That wasn’t what he’d expected at all. “Why?”

Merlin didn’t answer right away. “I think he has my mother,” he said eventually. “I mean… I don’t know what happened to her exactly, but… I think she might be in his camp.” Arthur stared at him. “Please say yes. I want to help you. I like you, and it’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone I really liked. And I won’t be any trouble.” He smiled, and Arthur smiled back.

“Alright,” said Arthur. “Alright.”

Merlin’s smile grew rather large. “Thanks,” he said. “They’re about two weeks away, I think, but he sent a messenger out just over a week ago. I’m not sure exactly when. So they’ll probably be about three weeks. And, well -”

“He has less men than his brother?” said Arthur. Merlin nodded. “Then I think we can manage.” Besides, he thought, they could always send a messenger into the neighbouring kingdom, which seemed quite willing to help.

“I think you’ll have to,” said Merlin.

At this point, they were interrupted by a servant with Merlin’s dinner. And once they were gone, Merlin ate in silence for a few minutes.

“You have been being fed, haven’t you?” Arthur said after a while.

“Yes,” said Merlin. “Don’t worry. I’m alright.”

“What about the others?” he said.

“He’s working in the stables now,” said Merlin. “He likes horses. or I think he does. he hasn’t said anything. Obviously. But he seems happy enough.”

“What about her?” said Arthur. Merlin just shrugged.

“Is there anything else you want to know?” he said.

“Could there be more of them coming?” said Arthur. “Other than his brother?”

Merlin thought about this. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, there could be. But I don’t know where they are. Sorry.”

“Believe me, you’ve done enough,” said Arthur.

Because now he could plan for battle. Again.


	5. Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For the first few hours after the attack, it hadn’t been that bad._

When Arthur came back to his rooms after seeing his father, he was surprised to find that Merlin was still there, asleep at the table, with his head pillowed on his arms. He’d still been eating when Arthur had left, but he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t left. It had been a few hours. Someone seemed to have been in to take the dishes away. But Merlin was still there.

He supposed that, really, the best thing to do would be to wake him up, and send him back to his own rooms. He very nearly did that - he walked swiftly over to him, and rested a hand on his shoulder, but then hesitated.

A few minutes later, Merlin had somehow ended up lying on Arthur’s bed, still fast asleep. Arthur lay down next to him, and watched him, contemplating.

-

_For the first few hours after the attack, it hadn’t been that bad._

_They’d all sat in a huddle in the centre of the Tarddyn camp through the night. Merlin had been with his mother and Will. They’d hardly spoken, but they’d been together._

_But then morning had come. There’d been a lot of shouting amongst the Tarddyn. And then they’d started separating them all out, into two groups. But even that hadn’t been so bad, until the soldiers had got to Merlin and his mother and Will, and decided that only one of them was worth keeping._

_They’d been dragged away from him, and he’d tried to follow, but was held back. So he’d struggled harder, used his magic, and he’s almost got free, almost…_

_But then they’d taken him away in the opposite direction, tied him up on his own, and beaten him until he could hardly stand.  
They didn’t like people to make trouble._

_When he’d been taken back, half the group was gone, taken away, as he found out later, as a gift for Druthelm’s brother._ It’s share and share alike in our family.

_The next night, he and another boy from Ealdor were selected, apparently with some care, and taken to the largest tent in the camp. He’d been made to stand outside and wait while the other boy was taken inside, then led out again after a few minutes, looking, he thought, distinctly relieved._

_Then it was his turn._

_The inside of the tent was comfortably warm. He’d been frozen outside, especially now his shirt was in tatters, but once he was inside, he relaxed for a moment._

_But then Druthelm had got up from his chair, and walked towards him. He nodded to one of his men, and they tore away what remained of his shirt._

_The Chieftain stood and looked at him. Then he walked all around him, stopping once he was back to where he was._

_“He has been beaten?” he said eventually._

_“He was trying to get away,” said one of the soldiers holding Merlin. Druthelmh nodded, then gestured vaguely. But apparently it meant something. Because the two men started trying to take off his breeches._

_“Don’t -” he snapped as he struggled, but one of them clapped a hand over his mouth, while the other bent town to tug his breeches off completely._

_“No,” said Druthelm, looking him up and down. “Let him speak.”_

_The man took his hand away. Druthelm’s gaze moved to his face, and stayed there, and Merlin stared back, trembling._

_“What would you say to me, boy?”_

_“I hate you,” said Merlin._

_And he did. He’d never hated anyone so much in his life. He could feel the hatred seething inside him, and he wanted to lash out with it, with his magic, but he couldn’t. Nothing happened, no matter how much he tried, and tried. And he kept trying, over the next few months, but… nothing (and when it finally did work, he hadn’t been trying at all)._

_Druthelm laughed. “So soon?” he said. “We’ve only just met.”_

_Then he reached out to touch Merlin’s face, but he flinched back. “Don’t touch me!”_

_But he just smiled, and rested his hand on his shoulder instead. “He’s spirited,” he said. “Like a wild horse. I look forward to breaking him in.”_

_Merlin shuddered, and closed his eyes, willing himself away from… from Druthelm, from the Tarddyn camp, from everything.  
Druthelm’s hand drifted down from his shoulder to his chest, and rested there for a moment before being snatched away. He must have signaled to the two men somehow, because they began to drag him across the tent._

_His eyes flew open, just before he was thrown to the ground next to another one of the slaves, a blond girl, and chained firmly to one of the tent poles._

_The Druthelm and his men left him, alone and shivering._

_He didn’t think he could possibly more more miserable._

_But then Druthelm came back, and there was more struggling, shouts, pain more intense than anything he’d felt before, blood and come running down his legs -_

_He spent the night sharing a blanket with the blond girl._

_“You won’t always feel this way,” she whispered to him. “You’ll learn to like it. You’re his, now. We both are.” And then she smiled, and Merlin turned away._

-

It seemed Arthur must have stirred Merlin after all. He woke up a few minutes after he’d moved him, and frowned.

“Why am I in your bed?” he said.

“You fell asleep,” said Arthur.

“At the table,” said Merlin, with a surprising amount of certainty, as if he’d done it on purpose.

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Which isn’t really a very sensible place to be sleeping. So I moved you.”

“You could have woken me up,” said Merlin, starting to sit up. Arthur stopped him, one hand on his chest, making him lie down again. “Why are we both in your bed?”

“It’s my bed,” said Arthur, shifting a little closer to Merlin. “I have every right to be here.”

He moved his hand from Merlin’s chest to the mattress on the opposite side of him, and moved even closer. Merlin shifted uncomfortably.

“Sire?” he said.

“You can call me Arthur, you know,” said Arthur. “Now shush.” He moved even closer, and Merlin remained obediently silent. But then Arthur leaned down and kissed him, and he let out an alarmed sound, and tried to pull away.

“Sire, don’t -” he said, but Arthur shushed him again.

Merlin lay there for a moment, his body tense, and Arthur waited for him to relax, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled away, and tugged himself out from under Arthur, almost rolling off the bed.

“Don’t,” he said. He was trembling slightly. “Don’t, just - don’t touch me.”

Arthur got up off the bed. “Merlin, I wouldn’t -”

“It’s not- that’s not what I mean - you can’t,” he said. “You can’t touch me. You just - you can’t.” Arthur reached out to take his arm, but he snatched it away. “Don’t!”

He was really shaking, now, and gasping for breath.

“I don’t understand,” said Arthur. “I’m not going to hurt you, Merlin -”

“That’s not-” said Merlin. “It’s not - it’s not you - it’s - it’s _him_ ,” he said. “He - I’m - I’m his.”

“He’s dead, Merlin,” said Arthur. “He doesn’t own you. He never did.”

But Merlin was shaking his head. “No,” he said, speaking more calmly than he had done before. “No, you don’t understand. I’m his. I’ll always be his. You can’t touch me because - I’m… tainted.”

“Merlin -” Arthur began.

“I can feel it,” Merlin interrupted. “All the time. All over me. Can’t you feel it?”

Arthur reached out and took Merlin by the arm. He tried to pull away again, but this time Arthur didn’t let him. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t -”

“But - I - it’s -”   
“He’s _gone_ , Merlin,” said Arthur. Merlin shook his head.

“No -” he started to say, but broke off. Arthur took hold of his other arm.

“He’s _gone_ ,” he repeated. “He can’t hurt you any more.”

Merlin shook his head. “Can’t you feel it?” he said, his voice suddenly very tiny. “It’s all over me, and it’s - it’s disgusting, it’s filthy, it’s, it’s -”

He kept trying to pull away while he spoke, but Arthur held on to him. “No,” he said. “Don’t say that. Don’t.” Merlin started to speak again, but he shushed him. “Don’t even think it,” he said. 

Merlin didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply for a moment, then leaned forward and practically fell into Arthur’s arms, so abruptly that he stumbled back a little. Then, once he’d regained his footing, he pulled Merlin back towards the bed, making him lie back down again. Then he just lay there, with Merlin wrapped around him. It was a few minutes before either of them spoke.

“You really don’t feel it?” said Merlin.

Arthur shook his head. “No,” he said. “All I feel is -” he broke off. “There’s something wonderful about you, Merlin.”

Merlin shifted, then lifted his head so he could look Arthur in the eye. “You really think so?” he said.

“I’ve always thought so,” said Arthur. “Since I - since I saw you. With him.”

He felt Merlin shudder in his arms, and held him a little tighter.


	6. Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So what you’re saying is that Camelot might be about to be overrun by a hoard of barbarians?”_

  
“Doran’s men will be waiting here,” said Arthur, gesturing at a point on a map of the area they were camped in that someone had drawn from him (very badly unfortunately, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do any better). “They shouldn’t be expecting that. The message was sent off before they joined the battle, yes?” he lifted his eyes from the map to glance at Merlin, lurking in the corner of the tent. He nodded. “Yes. So they should be able to surprise Tyshelm and his men.”

“We outnumber them even without Doran’s help, though,” said one of the five or six knights gathered around the table balanced on the wet grass.

“That’s true,” said Arthur. “But -”

He was interrupted by the arrival of a sixth (or possibly seventh) knight, Sir Kay. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said. “Tyshelm’s called on some other Tarddyn chieftains, apparently.”

“How many men?” said Arthur.

“No idea, Sire,” said Kay. “I’m sorry.”

“So what you’re saying is that Camelot might be about to be overun by a hoard of barbarians?” said Arthur. He dragged his fingers up through his hair. He hadn’t really slept since they’d left Camelot, two days ago.

“It’s possible,” said Kay.

“I wouldn’t be too worried,” said Merlin from the corner. “The other groups are all a lot smaller. And, well- ” he broke off. “It’s Tyshelm you want to worry about. I don’t think the others really know what they’re doing.”

“How many of them have you met, exactly?” said one of the knights.

“Three, I think,” said Merlin. “But they might not be the same ones. Sorry.”

“Either way, Sire,” said Kay. “You just killed Tyshelm’s brother. I think he’ll be more of a threat than they others, somehow.”

“Alright, yes,” said Arthur. “Leave me alone, will you? I need to think.”

The knights left in silence. All had been with him a few weeks before, when they’d defeated Druthelm, and all had been treading softly around him ever since.

Merlin tried to follow them, but Arthur caught him by the arm. “Not you,” he said softly. “You stay.” Merlin nodded, and returned to his corner.

“He’ll probably want to speak to you,” he said, once the knights were well away.

“Who?” said Arthur.

“Tyshelm,” said Merlin. “When he arrives. He’s like his brother. They both like to know what they’re facing. But you shouldn’t go alone this time.”

“Why not?” said Arthur. “Do you really think he’d -”

“If you aggravate him,” said Merlin. “Yeah.”

Arthur turned to face him. He smiled. “Oh, you -” he said. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go. You can come too. It’ll be such _fun_.” He pushed his hands up through his hair again.

“Stop doing that,” said Merlin. “You look like you’ve been struck by lightning or something.”

“Oh, and you’d know all about being struck by lightning, I suppose,” said Arthur, trying not to do it again, just to annoy him.  
Merlin stepped out of his corner (Arthur had noticed that his immediate reaction upon having nothing better to do tended to be to fit himself into the smallest space possible) and tugged back the cloth flap that led to, for want of a better word, Arthur's bedroom.

“You should get some rest, sire,” he said.

“I’ve got work to do,” said Arthur.

“You’re wearing yourself out,” said Merlin. “You need to sleep.” He stepped through into the other half of the tent. Arthur turned to watch him fold down the blankets on the bed.

“Stop that,” he said. “I can do it myself. If I wanted to, that is.”

“Sure,” said Merlin. He stepped back from the bed. “Sire?” he said.

Arthur gave in. He stepped forward, and sat down on the bed – practically fell onto it, in fact. “I’m so tired my eyes are blurring,” he said. Merlin knelt down in front of him, and started to take his boots off. He started to protest, but gave up. “How do you keep to calm, Merlin?” he said.

Merlin shrugged. “Practice, I guess.” He set one of Arthur’s boots down by the foot of the bed, and started to clumsily take off the second one. Arthur watched his efforts with a frown. “You’d make a terrible servant,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Merlin. He tugged off Arthur’s other boot, and stood up. “Coat?”

Arthur slipped his coat off, and held it out. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, as Merlin took it.  
“I don’t mind,” said Merlin, folding up the coat.

“I do,” said Arthur. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” said Merlin, trying to find a surface that wasn’t wet grass to set the coat down on. “Stop worrying about me.”

“No,” said Arthur. He slipped off his belt, and tossed it to Merlin, whose attempt to catch it went rather badly wrong; it slipped from his grasp, and, when he reached out to catch it before it hit the ground, it evaded him again, leaving him fumbling for a patch of thin air. Arthur laughed sleepily.

“Clumsy idiot,” he said, as he lay back.

“Thanks, sire,” said Merlin. “And, of course, you are paragon of grace and athleticism.”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

“And modesty,” said Merlin.

“Oh, yes,” said Arthur, yawning. “Mustn’t forget that.”  He closed his eyes, and was dimly aware of Merlin moving the blankets over him.

“Sleep well, sire,” he heard.

-

It was just getting light when Arthur woke up, roused by something moving around his tent. He lay there for a moment without opening his eyes, trying to work out why his bed was so uncomfortable, before he remembered where he was.

Then he sat up suddenly. The squire jumped, almost spilling the bucket of water he was carrying.

“What are you doing here?” he said, probably sounding angrier than he was.

The boy’s mouth moved wordlessly for a few seconds before he spoke. “I brought you some water, S-sire,” he said at last.

“Just put it down and get out, will you?” he said. The boy nodded and fled from the tent. Arthur sighed, and lay back down.

A moment later, there was some noise from outside, and Merlin’s head appeared, peering in from behind the tent-flap.

“Message for you,” he said.

“Oh, yes?” said Arthur. He sat up again, and swung his legs down over the edge of the bed.

Merlin nodded. “Yes,” he said. “The boy who was in here now would have told you if you hadn’t, y’know, scared him away.”

Arthur climbed up off the bed. “Come in here and tell me, then,” he said as he wandered vaguely in the direction of the water bucket.

Merlin hesitated, then slipped inside. “There’s a messenger here,” he said. “From Tyshelm."

Arthur knelt down and dipped his hands in the water. “What, already?” Merlin didn’t answer. “Any time now,” he said, slashing some water across his face.

“The messenger arrived two hours ago,” he said. “He’s been waiting just outside the camp for you.”

Arthur froze. Water dripped back into the bucket. “Merlin,” he said slowly. “Please tell me you didn’t tell him I was asleep.”

“We said ‘busy’,” said Merlin. “Is that alright?”

“Could you not just have woken me up?” said Arthur, standing up and spinning round. “Would that have been so hard?” He wiped the rest of the water off his face with his sleeve.

“Well, we talked about it,” said Merlin. “But -”

“ _We?!_ ” said Arthur. “Who the hell is _we?!_ ”

“Me and some of your knights,” said Merlin. “I think they’ve been sending a squire to tell him that you’re just coming every ten minutes or so.”

Arthur took a few deep breaths, then strode towards the doorway, pausing just next to Merlin. “Will you please tell everyone who was involved,” he said. “That once this is over, I’m planning to hunt them all down and kill them each individually.”

“Consider it done, sire!” Merlin called after him. Much to Arthur’s annoyance, he sounded like he was about to laugh.

“That includes you!” he called over his shoulder.

-

He met Sir Kay near the edge of the camp, irritatingly awake and alert.

“Sleep well, sire?” he said.

“Shut up,” said Arthur. “I hear there’s a messenger?”

Kay pointed in silence to a man slouched in the shadow on a nearby tree. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think he’d been spending his time waiting for you by getting very drunk. Be forewarned.”

“You could just have _woken me_ ,” Arthur muttered as he walked away.

The messenger held his flask aloft just as Arthur reached him. “King Denpragon, I salute you!” he bellowed.

Kay came up behind him. “Told you,” he muttered.

Arthur ignored him. “I’m told you have a message for me,” he said.

“What?” said the messenger, drinking from his flask again. “Oh. Yes. Message. Very important.” Arthur waited for a moment, but the man didn’t say anything.

“Well?” he said.

“What?” said the man.

“The message,” said Arthur. The man looked at him blankly. “What is it?!”

“Yes,” said the Tarddyn. “Well. Tyshelm - Tyshelm, he says - Tyshelm -” he went to drink from his flask again, but this time Arthur darted forward and caught him by the wrist.

“Give me that,” he said, prising his fingers away from the leather.

“Oi!” said the man as it was tugged away from him, reached out to grab it, but Arthur stepped back, out of reach, and held it up by the straps.

“You can have it back when you give me your message,” he said.

“Tyshelm wants to see you,” he said, and hiccuped. “Soon as possible. Says to come unarmed. And he’ll probably, he’ll probably have my hide for taking this long.”

“I’m sure we’ll all mourn for you,” said Arthur. He tossed the flask back, but messenger’s reflexes were so dulled by alcohol that he missed it completely. It hit the ground heavily, and began steadily leaking its contents out into the grass. The messenger stared at it miserably, then began to stagger away, leaving it behind.

“They really are unbelievable,” said Arthur. “Aren’t they?”

“Yes, sire,” said Kay. He reached down to pick up the flask, sniffed at what remained of the contents, then took a tentative sip.  
“Oh, that’s disgusting,” he said. “Tastes like horse piss.” He offered the flask to Arthur. “Want to try?”

“Put it back where it was,” said Arthur, turning to walk back into the camp. “And you’re coming with me to meet with him, alright?”  
After all, he thought, this time they hadn’t said to go alone.

_(ETA September 2012: fic now abandoned, you can read a brief summary of what would have gone down[here](http://kathkin.livejournal.com/104713.html?thread=515593#t515593).)_   



End file.
